Aftermath
by jennedy
Summary: How could this happen? It was all wrong. If anything, SHE had been ready to die for the city, it was HER family legacy, HER responsibility. Trace was never supposed to get hurt...


_**Aftermath**_

He was there when she woke up in the hospital. She heard him breathing. She could feel his eyes on her, anxious for signs of consciousness. She gave him none. She pretended to be asleep, listened to the beeping of her heart monitor, for a good hour before he finally left the room.

She imagined him standing right outside the door, dialing her dad's number. But she'd probably been out for days. Maybe he was going to the bathroom, or getting food, or maybe he was taking a break from the sick fluorescent lights and the smell of bleach.

For a few eerie minutes she didn't remember anything. _That's the concussion,_ she thought, and then, _What concussion?_ She certainly felt it, her brain screaming so loud that she nearly gave in and pressed the call button on the rail of her bed. But she pushed the pain aside and focused on gathering strength. And then she began to remember – just blurry, nightmarish images at first, and then sound, the yelling, _the gunshots, the crack of a head against concrete._

Her whole face was swollen. …_fists crashing down on her_… She worked her jaw and felt the nauseating tug of stitches that cut across her cheek. …_a beer bottle shattering, the sharp edge slicing wildly towards her face… _She tried to adjust her position in bed around the wires and IVs and cried out as she jostled her shoulder. She cursed her weakness as tears flooded down her cheeks and her vision turned into a white blur.

Too late, she noticed the bandages wrapped tightly around her shoulder, and the agonizing pain radiating from it. _Someone shot me?_ She whimpered and clutched it with her free hand, the IV pulling uncomfortably. She screamed in anger and tore the tube out of her hand, and then proceeded to rip all the wires off her body and swing her legs over the side of the bed, pain making her head spin. The room whirled around her.

She stood slowly, and slumped against the wall to stay upright, begging her shaking form to make it to the door and lean against the handle hard enough to get out. She forced herself to take another step, and then another, and by the time she reached the door she was shuddering and sweating. She closed her eyes and focused on staying conscious.

_ "Traci… Oh God… Oh my God…" Clutching her hand, dragging the limp body into her lap, desperately mopping at the blood streaming from her skull. She gasps in agony, her torn cheek screaming, men shouting from upstairs… "TRACI!" she screams, shaking her friend wildly. "PLEASE, TRACE, PLEASE!" Hot tears sting in the cuts on her face._

_ Suddenly a bang, and she screams again before the bullet even has time to hit, tearing into her, and she sprawls over Traci's body. Sirens blare in her ears as the world slowly dims. She hears voices yelling – familiar, _good, _cop voices, Sam and Gail, more shots fired but she's stroking Traci's face. _

_In the distance, there's the sound of Gail's terror, strident and furious, throwing the gang members on their faces one by one, some of them bleeding and broken, most of them nasty and spitting filth._

_ Then there's Sam, and he touches her and all her injuries burn. She feels herself fainting and fights, "No, nononono," clinging to Traci. He grabs her and tries to drag her off and she wails in agony. He's worrying about the blood seeping from her shoulder and all over her face and hands, but can't he see that Trace needs help?_

_ "Andy stop. Shh, she's gone. It's too late," he murmurs, pulls her off. She hears tears in his voice. "Come on, ambulance is here," and she cries again, weaker and dizzier, and he swings her into his arms and she beats his chest and gasps, her vision blurring at the sides, he's calling her name. Stay awake stay awake stay awake…_

_ And she thinks of Traci lying cold on the asphalt and her will gives out completely. _

Andy opened her eyes. She shivered with cold, but she could feel an icy sweat shimmering on her face and back. With a grunt and a spasm of pain, she pushed down hard on the door handle and leaned just enough for it to slide open.

She stumbled into the hallway, reeling in her hospital gown. Few people were wandering the halls, and most of the room lights were dark. She knew she should probably wonder what time it was, but she couldn't care less. It was time to leave. She was done.

She found an elevator, and all the numbered buttons scrambled and flashed in her brain, so she chose the one with the star, the ground floor, right? For a few seconds she worried the movement of the elevator was going to make her sick, but then it stopped and the doors popped open with an eerily happy ding and she tottered out into a deserted lobby.

A lone receptionist was watching TV on her computer, and looked up over the rims of her glasses with a frown. "Miss, are you alright? Do you need something?" Andy walked faster, clutching her throbbing shoulder, knowing that the woman would just call someone to take her back to her cell. The woman stood and slid out from behind her desk, tapping buttons on her phone, and Andy broke into a weak run, weaving slightly as she made her way to the door.

She burst out onto the street, clouds of fog billowing from her panting mouth. She felt freer, yes, but much colder – she looked down to see that she was wading in near-frozen slush. Her bare feet burned; she felt suddenly naked in her hospital gown. She looked over her shoulder to see the receptionist following quickly, and she limped away from the doorway and onto the sidewalk, which still managed to have a few night owl businesspeople scurrying along it.

The receptionist called after her frantically, waving hands from the doorway and then swearing and running after her. Andy turned to look at her and that was when the man ran into her, suit and briefcase and all, and she fell into the slush with a depressing squelch.

Tears streamed down her face as she realized she didn't have the strength to stand. She sobbed helplessly as the receptionist and the stranger leaned over her, talked quickly on cell phones.

She must have passed out, because before she knew it she was back in her room, still shivering, and Sam was holding her hand. His stubbly face pressed against it when he saw her eyes open.

"Andy," he said softly, his voice shaking with worry and pity. She hated him, in that instant, for pitying her. "It's okay."

She was surprised at the venom she suddenly realized in herself. "Get me _out of here_," she spat, and closed her eyes again. But instead of blackness, she just saw Traci – Traci smiling woefully back at her, pitying her just like everyone else.

After she fled the hospital, they only made her stay a few more days before releasing her to Sam's care. Everyone knew she would just run again, and probably meet much worse a fate than being plowed down by a pedestrian.

Sam accepted that she would run. He would try to make her talk about it, and she would clam up and yell at him, and hate herself for it. And then she would leave. The first time, she only made it as far as the bus stop before she over exerted herself and vomited painkillers all over the slushy sidewalk. That venture had taken less than an hour. Today, it had already been three hours of traipsing around the city in the gently falling snow – and she didn't know if she would ever go back.

She stood on the railing and stared out over the open water, curling her bare toes over the cold stone barrier. It would be so easy to step off, to suddenly forget her father drinking himself to death, and the pile of unopened letters from her estranged mother accumulating under her mattress, and her closest friend spending her last night above ground in the undertaker's shop. Guilt twisted inside her. Andy breathed raggedly, a cloud of steam billowing around her lips. She wondered if it would hurt when she hit the water, or if the impact would kill her too quickly for the feeling to register.

"I won't stop you," said Jerry from behind her. Andy turned; the detective's red eyes gazed back with a grief so potent she nearly choked on it. "I didn't know it was possible to feel like this." The absence of his usual suit threw her, and she studied him curiously as he put his hands on the rail and clambered up next to her. He sighed heavily. "McNally, it wasn't your fault."

A trembling wail echoed from her lips, hushed by the pure size of the open cavity of bridge meeting air meeting water. Hot tears burned down her cheeks. Both of her eyes were still bruised black and purple, her lips were still swollen and bleeding, and her twisted ankle still ached and shuddered beneath her. Andy looked over to see Jerry crying too, his handsome face downcast as he studied his battered sneakers – or was he looking at the dappled waves two hundred feet below?

"Does Sammy know you're up here?" he asked quietly. She coughed, shuffled her feet, shook her head. Sam was waiting for her to come back to their apartment – by now he'd probably realized that she would never go back to that damn hospital again if she could help it. "What about Tommy?" She knew exactly where her dad was – passed out drunk on his living room floor. He probably hadn't even heard yet. She shook her head again. "They still need you, McNally, you can't go jumping off bridges."

The emptiness swelled inside her, and she bit the inside of her cheek hard to keep from screaming. Andy imagined going to work, and getting dressed with Gail in silence for the rest of her life. She could feel the lack of Traci in everything, in the bridge, the water, the frigid air, and especially Jerry, who stood shuddering next to her. The rest of their lives loomed before them.

He swayed suddenly, and she felt her arms grab his elbows and steady him against the icy wind, her own petrified voice soothing him quietly, and then they stepped down from the edge in tandem. Andy threw her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder, and both of them shook. She heard Jerry apologizing, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Trace, and she fought the urge to push him away from her and run like hell. Running like hell was her specialty. And God, oh God, she was _not_ Traci.

Jerry pulled away, and she let him. "There's something else," he said in a whisper almost too quiet to hear. "Leo."

Andy sank to the ground, sat back hard against the barrier. "Oh no... Leo…" She bit her lip until she tasted blood, she would _not_ cry anymore, she wouldn't… "Is Dex getting custody?"

Jerry slumped next to her. He carefully took one of her hands in his. "No. He lost the partial custody he had because of drug use, among other things."

She bowed her head, trying not to think of Leo spending the night in the foster system, confused, alone, without really knowing what happened to his mom. She clenched her fists, shaking with pain and grief and fury. How could this happen? It was all wrong. If anything, _she_ had been ready to die for the city, it was _her_ family legacy, _her_ responsibility. Trace was never supposed to get hurt.

"Andy. Andy, listen to me," Jerry was saying. She looked up. He pursed his lips, and started to say something, then stopped. He tried again. "Traci revised her will a month or so ago, when Dex got in all that trouble," he said. "Once her mom died, Dex was next in line for custody of Leo. But Trace wanted someone she trusted taking care of him in case she – in case – " He choked up, and studied the ridges in the pavement for a few seconds before continuing. She closed her eyes. She had never wanted to see him like this. And she knew she would never be able to scrub the memory from her tired mind.

"She chose you, Andy." She started. A flash of fiery shock coursed through her numbness. He couldn't be saying… She wasn't ready… She had never planned for…

"You're Leo's legal guardian."


End file.
